You lied to me! You told me the 200 bicycle seats sitting in our basement were from a faulty shipment at work and that you would be examining them as part of your company’s initiative on quality control. You started spending more time in the basement — sniffing the seats, straddling them and licking them. I thought it was strange, but I know you have a passion for bicycles, so I let it go because I loved you. When we were out, I saw you eyeing parked bicycles. You looked at them in lascivious way. You had a particular fondness for the ones with child seats. I tried my best to interpret it as part of your mad genius for mechanical engineering.

I was so naive. Little did I know that all this time you were stealing women’s bicycle seats so could “smell the lingering scent of a woman.” Joji, that’s sick! The police caught you at 4 a.m. this morning, outside a housing complex, pilfering three seats from women’s electric bicycles valued at $200 a piece. While I was asleep in our bed you were stalking bicycle seats!? Do you know how fucking insane that is, Joji?

When they caught you, you led the cops directly to the stash of seats in our basement. And come to find out, duh, they weren’t from work, they were stolen. You admitted to the police that you “like the texture of the leather and the smell it has” and that you stole the seats so you could “lick it and sniff” them. You even admitted to targeting bikes with child seats so that you could be sure the seat was ridden by a woman. First of all, that’s sexist. Dads can ride their kids around on bikes too, you know! Also, ew.

Joji, how could you? You should have told me you had a bicycle fetish. We could have gone to therapy and dealt with this the right way. In a LEGAL fashion. You’re 35 years old. You had your whole life ahead of you. Now, you’ll always be known as the crotch-sniffing bicycle thief. All my family and friends know about it. I’m so embarrassed. How can we move forward from this? We can’t. Ride away, Joji. Ride far, far away.